


life was never worse but never better

by theappleppielifestyle



Series: going on a ride [5]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, M/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:49:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theappleppielifestyle/pseuds/theappleppielifestyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Howard locked you in a <i>closet?”</i></p>
<p>Tony’s laugh comes, high and hysterical. “He used to do it all the time when I was being a brat. Guess I haven’t been bratty enough until now.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	life was never worse but never better

**Author's Note:**

> this is all [musicalluna](http://musicalluna.tumblr.com/)'s fault.
> 
> THE FICS IN THIS SERIES ARE NOT IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER I GUESS

Steve asks, once, if he thinks Howard will be mad about Tony switching back to glasses instead of wearing contacts like Howard told him to.

“Well, yeah,” Tony says, distracted by the ice cream running down his wrist. He wipes it away on a napkin before continuing, “But what can he do about it?”

Steve nods, not looking entirely convinced, and Tony puts it out of their minds until Howard comes thundering down the stairs a week later while Tony is fiddling with the specs of a new robot while on the speakerphone to Steve.

He cuts off mid-sentence, going tense as he hears the footsteps that he is all too used to. He clicks off speakerphone so Steve’s voice goes quiet and tinny, asking Tony if something’s wrong, and Tony doesn’t get a chance to answer before Howard is bursting into Tony’s room, face set in lines of anger.

“Howard,” Tony says, trying to keep his voice even. It works, mostly.

He puts down his soldering iron. “What are you-”

“I have asked around town,” Howard starts, stalking forwards. “Not only are you dating a boy, you are dating a poor one. Tony, I am tired of your constant shenanigans, the disobeying, you are embarrassing us-”

Tony feels fear bolt through him, churning his gut as Howard continues to come forwards. Tony shrinks back as Howard gets closer- he’s never hit Tony, never done anything more than leave the occasional bruises on his wrists when he’s drunk or shouting or even just shouting, but Tony has never been sure that Howard wouldn’t cross that line.

He doesn’t hit Tony, though, instead his arm comes up to grab Tony by the arm, just below the elbow and squeezing. Tony drops the phone, opening his mouth to complain as Howard bends and yanks out the power cord for the soldering iron. It doesn’t come away at the first tug, so Howard jerks it harder until it pops out.

“Hey,” Tony says as he’s dragged off his stool. Howard’s grip tightens at that, and Tony winces inwards, struggling. “Ow, what are you doing- let _go_ -”

Howard ignores him, and when he starts walking, Tony is forced to follow.

“You are a Stark,” Howard says, not looking at Tony. “And you will learn to act like one. I am done tolerating your misbehaviour.”

The tight coldness in his voice is making Tony break out in goosebumps, tendrils of fear creeping through his body as he tries to figure out what Howard is going to do to him- all those lines Howard hasn’t crossed yet, hasn’t dared to or thought Tony deserved it yet. Or maybe he just couldn’t bother dealing with Tony thoroughly enough.

“If you are going to act like a child, then I will treat you like one,” Howard says, and that’s when Tony realizes they’re approaching the closet down the hall.

“No, Dad, come on-” Tony tries to pull back, but Howard’s fingers bite into his skin. “Dad- dad, please, come on-”

Noises bubble out of Tony’s mouth before he knows he’s making them, starting out as firm protests and then deteriorating into pleads as they near the closet. Tony digs his heels in and Howard has to yank at Tony, pull him toward the door.

“ _No_ nonono,” Tony hears himself say, suddenly eight years old and fighting back tears again as Dad tries to shut him in the dark for god knows how long. But he’s bigger now, and he struggles, and maybe if he threw a punch he’d be able to get away, but then what would Howard do-

“You can’t, you can’t,” Tony says, high and wild. “Pleasepleaseplease I’ll be good I swear please don’t do this-”

Howard’s lip is curled as he says, “Watch me.”

He shoves Tony bodily into the closet, hard enough Tony stumbles and falls against the back wall. He scrambles to his feet but he’s not fast enough, and Howard slams the door.

He’s had nightmares about the heavy lock clicking into place, and it makes him go still as reality sets in.

Footsteps again, hard and uncaring and fading out into silence as the darkness swallows Tony. He stays there, frozen in the closet that is smaller than he remembers, too small, and swallows as his eyes drop to the tiny bar of light at the bottom of the door.

Tony hasn’t been in here since he was eight- hasn’t been forced in here since he was eight- but somehow, it’s like he never left. Like the closet was always at the back of his mind, looming, waiting to welcome him back into the stifling silence, the solitude.

His breathing is quick and panicked as he bangs at the door, but he knows no one will come. They never do. Howard tells everyone- the maids, Jarvis, Maria- to stay clear of this side of the house when this happens.

Tony hears his breath get even faster until it hurts as he yanks fruitlessly at the door handle, panic climbing the back of his throat.

 

 

 

Steve keeps quiet during the confrontation with Howard, which he hears in bits and pieces over the phone. At one point he hears a clatter and the voices get distant, and then disappear all together with the sound of footsteps.

He waits a few seconds, and then says Tony’s name into the phone. No answer.

He says it every thirty seconds for a while, getting more and more panicked as Tony continues not to answer. He doesn’t know what happened, but it wasn’t good.

After half an hour, Steve notices the music that is always in the background in Tony’s room getting fainter, a familiar whirring noise coming over the line.

Steve’s panic ratchets higher, thinking maybe Tony came back but he’s too hurt to speak- Steve imagines punctured lungs, Tony lying bloody and shaking on the floor of his room, and very nearly calls the police right then.  
  
He’s going for the house phone to dial 911 when a loud clattering over the line distracts him. He pauses, holds the phone up to his ear. There’s a pause, then a loud scraping noise and a gasp, and Steve is flooded with relief as Tony says reverently, “Dum-E, I’m going to rebuild you from scratch out of gold, I swear to god.”

Steve all but crushes the phone to his ear. “Tony?”

Another pause, and then Tony’s voice cracks in the middle of: “Steve?”

“Tony,” Steve breathes. “Oh, my god.”

“You’re still on the line.”

Steve throws his free hand up. “I didn’t know what else to do! Jeez, Tony, are you alright? You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“I’m just-” a breath, hard and scratchy. “I’m in a closet,” Tony says, and Steve recognizes all too well the sound of him trying to play it off as nothing, keep casual and cool, but his voice is shaking, dipping and caving in in places like he wants to cry, and Steve’s stomach drops.

“He locked you in a _closet_?”

Tony’s laugh comes, high and hysterical. “He used to do it all the time when I was being a brat. Guess I haven’t been bratty enough until now.”

He sucks in another few breaths, fever-quick and Steve is reminded of himself, when he used to get asthma attacks.

He imagines Tony being shoved in the dark, and clenches his fists. “I’m getting you out of there.”

“What?” Tony’s voice climbs in volume. “Steve, no, you can’t, what if he catches you?”

Steve is already grabbing his jacket. “What is he gonna do, lock me in a closet?”

Tony lets out another strangled laugh, and Steve wills warmth into his voice as he heads out the door. “Tony, I can do this. I’m a Howling Commando, remember?”  
  
“Please don’t do this, it’s not worth it-”

“Tony-”

“I can handle it, okay, it’s just a dumb closet, it’s boring, it’s not a big deal-”

Tony’s words break and twist despite what he’s saying, and Steve gets on his motorcycle and drives as fast as he can.

 

 

 

 

Sneaking into Stark Mansion is easy. There are about a thousand doors, and none of them seem to be locked. The staff aren’t suspicious, they’ve all seen him with Tony before, so all they do is smile and wave at Steve when he passes.

Steve returns their smiles vaguely as Tony whispers directions in his ear. He hates how petrified Tony sounds, like a scared kid.

The closet in question is a big, heavy wooden door with a brass lock, and Tony is rambling in his ear a mile a minute asking how he’s going to get him out, if he’s going to break the door down. But Natasha’s taught Steve a thing or two, and old-fashioned locks like these pick easy.

He double-checks both ends of the hallway and, hyper-aware of approaching footsteps, he has the lock disengaged thirty seconds later.

Keeping his voice low, Steve opens the door. “Tony?”

The light falls on him, and Steve sees Tony sitting at the back of the closet, barely visible under the row of coats hanging up inside. His knees are drawn up to his chest, his arms wrapped around them.

His face is white in the shadows of the coats, eyes wide behind the glasses, the lashes behind them sticking together in wet clumps. “Steve,” he breathes, still shaky, and then he’s stumbling to his feet, head dragging on the coats. He flings his arms around Steve’s neck, his whole body heaving.

Steve holds him, presses him close. “I got you, I got you,” he repeats, over and over as Tony stops shaking. He still checks over Tony’s shoulder for people approaching, and fear floods him again- what are they going to do now? There’s no way Steve is letting Howard around Tony again, but if they tell, Tony might get taken away and have to move somewhere else, somewhere far away. The idea makes Steve clutch Tony tighter, stroke a hand through his hair so he can feel Tony solid in his arms, solid and safe and here with Steve.

They’ve been standing here too long, but Tony slowly starts coming around. He’s still shaking when he tells Steve they should go, but it’s minute shivers, small, rolling ones that Tony can mostly control.

“Where should we go?”

“Anywhere but here, seriously, anywhere, Steve.”

“You got it,” Steve says, and they avoid the staff this time as they sneak out of the house and down the road to Steve’s motorcycle.

 

 

 

 

Steve shrugs his jacket off when they get to his apartment, puts it over Tony’s shoulders and kisses Tony’s cheek.

“Thanks for coming to get me,” Tony tells him when Steve pulls back. “I- you didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, I did,” Steve says, and Tony looks like he’s going to say something else before his jaw clicks shut.

 

 

 

 

Tony sits on the couch as Steve makes them both cocoa, which they sit and sip as they calm down, though Tony doesn’t much. If anything, he gets more anxious the longer he’s here.

Steve tries to steer the subject to their Chem midterm, and Tony makes non-committal noises into his mug.

“Are you okay,” Steve asks finally, and Tony snaps, “I have to go back sometime, Steve. I can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not,” Steve demands, and Tony’s gaze goes disdainful.

“The whole reason he’s mad is because I’m the heir, I inherit everything- the fortune, the company, the image- but I don’t act like I should be. He’s not going to let me just- walk away from all of it.”

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but then the door is opening and they both freeze, Steve moving slightly in front of Tony on instinct.

“Mom,” Steve says when the image sets in. “Oh.”

She looks between the two of them, closes the door behind her with a sigh. “Steve, we talked about this. I asked you not to have Tony over when I’m not at home.”

Steve’s throat works. He glances at Tony.

Tony looks back at him before his eyes are dropping to the ground. “It’s my fault, Ms. Rogers.”  
  
“How so,” Sarah asks, sliding off her shoes and lining them up next to the door. She looks over her shoulder at him expectantly.

“I,” Tony says, and his mouth works but nothing comes out. “Uh.”

Steve looks anxiously between the two of them, two of the people he cares about most in the world, and takes Tony’s hand. “Mom, if we tell you, you gotta promise you won’t tell anybody.”

She turns around fully, eyebrows creasing. She looks for a long time, and then says, “I can’t promise that.”

Tony lets his head drop back on the couch tiredly. He puts his hands over his face, and it looks like an effort when he mumbles, “Just tell her, Steve.”

So Steve does. His mom listens silently, expression unchanging throughout it, and when he’s finished explaining, she sits down slowly on the couch next to Tony.

He frowns, a small thing as he glances at her, and the frown turns into a look of shock when Sarah gently pulls him into a hug. Tony’s eyes are wide, confused as his arms dangle at his sides, not knowing what do to with them, what to do with what’s happening.

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Sarah says, and Tony’s face crumples. First his mouth twitches downwards, then his eyes fill, and then he’s shoving his face into Sarah’s shoulder, the woman who works so hard and gets so little and still gives so much, who told Tony he was always welcome here.

His fingers are bloodless around fistfuls of her scrubs, shoulders shaking around sobs. Sarah shushes him quietly, pushing a hand through his hair again and again until Tony quietens.

Steve gets up to make soup, pouring it into bowls and watching out of the corner of his eye as Sarah wipes Tony’s wet cheeks dry with her thumbs and presses a kiss to his forehead that gets his chin wobbling again. She takes off his glasses, waiting for his nod before doing so, and then cleans them on her shirt.

As she eases them back on again, she cups his face, bringing their gazes together. “I will take care of this, okay?”

Fear starts creeping back into Tony’s body language, tightening his jaw, stiffening his shoulders. “I don’t want to go to a foster home, I don’t want to leave-”

“If it comes to that, then we’ll handle it,” she says firmly. Her thumbs stroke his cheeks. “We’ll take care of you, honey, I promise.”

Tony looks worried, but he still nods.

 

 

 

 

Sarah convinces Tony to stay the night, and after they’re both tucked in- Tony acts like he’s only putting up with it, but they both see the warmth in his eyes- she goes over to Stark Mansion.

It’s big, bigger than she expected, but she doesn’t let herself be deterred. She marches up to the front door and knocks, straightening her shirt she got for two dollars at a yard sale.

A butler answers, about her age, with kindly eyes. “Yes?”

“I need to speak with Howard,” she says. “He may be wondering where Tony is.”

Surprise flits over the butler’s face for a moment, but then he’s stepping back. “Do come in.”

She does, and once the door is closed behind them she pauses. “You don’t happen to be Jarvis, do you?”

A pleased smile. “I do indeed. Please follow me.”

Howard doesn’t glance up from his work when they enter. “Jarvis, who is it?”

“Sarah Rogers,” she says, talking over Jarvis. “My son is dating Tony.”

_That_ makes him look up, though it’s not a nice look that he gives her. He stands, all old-money and expensive suits and whiskey as old as he is.

He eyes her coolly. “I see. Your son is probably the one responsible for teaching him how to pick locks, then.”

“My son is the one who picked that lock,” Sarah replies with no small amount of pride, lifting her chin. He may be old money, but she just worked 24 hours straight and then took care of two boys and she still has energy to spare. He has nothing on her, and his sure look falters when she steps closer.

She gets in his space, and doesn’t smile. “Mr. Stark, if you ever lock that boy in a room smaller than this hall or raise so much as a finger to him, I will see to it that you never see him again.”

Howard’s eyes narrow. “Do you not recognize that I could destroy you without even trying?”

“Tony has somewhere to go now,” Sarah replies. “He has choices. Do you think the Stark name can hold up to allegations of abuse? Do you think your hands are clean enough? I wouldn’t have to do a thing except stand beside him.”

Howard doesn’t say anything for a while, and then his mouth pinches. “What do you want, Mrs. Rogers?”

“It’s Ms. Rogers,” she corrects. “And I want you to leave him alone. He’s a boy, not a puppet.”

She leaves before he can say anything else, and goes home to her boys.

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](http://theappleppielifestyle.tumblr.com/).


End file.
